


Anchored

by Fireway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pregnancy, gendrya kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireway/pseuds/Fireway
Summary: Life after Arya sailed away, Gendry's POV.





	Anchored

“Gendry. Get up.” The voice was enough to drag Gendry from his sleep, though he wasn’t ready to give up his dreams so easily – the gentle lull of the waves and the creaking of the wood was like a lullaby, designed to make his mind wander to realms of dream.

“This is the first warning.” With that, Gendry felt the linen sheet ripped away, and though the morning sun was warming his skin from the cabin windows, it made him grimace, as air hit his hot skin. Blindly, refusing to open his eyes, the man tried to get his cover back from the thief. When he couldn’t find it, Gendry mumbled something in defeat, but just rolled back to his side.

“Gods, you’re annoying. Second warning.” The voice was clearer now, closer even – or maybe it was that Gendry was waking up – though against his own will. Gendry finally found the stolen sheet and pulled it back to cover himself. He could faintly hear the footsteps of are feet on the wooden floor, but the soft swinging from side to side soon made Gendry fall back asleep.

It didn’t last long – Gendry could barely sink his head back to his pillow when the splash of cold mead hit his face and chest, wetting the linen cover he was sleeping under. Gendry woke with a start, jumping up from the bed, eyes finally wide open.

“You fuck---”

“Last warning!” Arya announced the same second she poured the rest of the last third of the mead bottle onto him, the sweet drink covering his shoulders and hair. Gendry wiped his eyes, gasping in the rude awakening, then finally catching a glimpse of Arya on the bedside, one eyebrow quirked in faux annoyance, though her eyes glimmered with mischief. Gendry grinned to himself, quickly grasping Arya’s wrist, pulling her to the bed. Gendry knew they weren’t in such a rush after all – Arya would have been able to move away if she didn’t want to, and as she moved on to the bed, Gendry saw her trying not to smile.

Arya moved herself on top of him as Gendry turned to lie on his back, smiling up to the woman as she straddled him, finally smile on her lips.

“I guess I don’t have to get up, then?” Gendry quipped with a cocky grin, only to be answered with a kiss Arya pressed onto his lips. Arya smiled as she tasted the sweet mead she had spilled on him to wake Gendry, who always slept like a log.

“Oh, you do. We’ll be docking in an hour or so. Before sun reaches treetops.” Arya murmured between kisses, as Gendry’s hands travelled to her hips, thumbs resting on the swell of her lower stomach.

“Then we have an hour to spare. I need to wake up properly anyway, or I’ll get seasick before I even reach the deck.”

“Right, because we haven’t spent the last 3 years on sea.” Arya laughed against his skin as she peppered kisses down the column of his throat. Gendry bit back a moan that threatened to escape his lips, his fingers sliding under Arya’s loose breeches as he dug his fingers against her skin, feeling her move on top of him, teasing.

Just as Gendry was about to grab the hem of Arya’s shirt, he was Arya look up and straighten her back; seconds later, Gendry heard it too. Footsteps were approaching the door, hands grabbing the handle and turning it. With incredible agility Arya rose from their bed, and though her skin was flushed, her face was neutral – just in time as the door swung open, Gendry pulling the sheets to cover himself.

“Mom! Pie told me to tell you we’re running out of honey.” The girl of barely three said with the tone of voice that couldn’t be inherited from anywhere else but her mother. It seemed like she got all the temper of a direwolf, though her looks screamed Baratheon; black hair falling onto her shoulders in thick waves and eyes as blue as the sea she was born on. She stood at the door, still gripping the door handle in her small hand until Arya bent and lifter their daughter up with ease – but soon enough, the girl immediately reaching for the bed she was too little to climb herself, demanding to get on it. Arya smiled at their daughter reaching for her dad, soon placing her onto the edge of the bed.

“What do you mean we’re out of honey when we got you?” Gendry smiled at his daughter crawling to his side, giggling at his dad’s comment. Gendry lifted himself up, supporting his upper body with his elbow and ruffled the girl’s hair with his free hand.

“Alright, pup, go tell Hot Pie to give you some breakfast, we’ll be on the deck in no time.” Arya smiled as she lifted her back off the bed and watched as the sealegged little girl ran out with no hesitation in the swaying ship.

“Do I need to waste another bottle of mead to get you up?” Arya nagged, though smiling at her love. Gendry shook his head, sitting up and gently tugging Arya’s wrist for her to come closer. Arya sifted her knee to the edge of the bed to balance her as she bent down to kiss him.

“I love you so much.” Gendry murmured against her soft lips, feeling them turn up to a grin. As Arya straightened, her face seemed to slip away, like she was being pulled away – no, _he_ was.

Gendry woke up with a gasp.

The room wasn’t swaying around him anymore and he was covered in thick furs that tickled his skin.

He was back in Storm’s End, surrounded by the cold stone walls and ancient lands, lands his ancestors had ruled before him. Though, if Gendry had to take a guess, they did it willingly and knew what they were doing after getting all the lessons ever since they were taken out of the cradle – but that was not Gendry, he could barely stay awake on his lordly lessons on taxation and family trees and other crap he didn’t care about. He didn’t have years of preparation as he was just pushed into being a lord of one of the seven kingdoms – well, six kingdoms now.

Storm’s End was everything Gendry wasn’t used to; even after living there for a year, it had always felt hollow, unwelcoming to him, a bastard with no family, never even spoken to his king-father. He grimaced to the memories of his first year in Storm’s End; he had almost ruined a minor lord’s income with a decision made in haste, as Davos sent him letter that Gendry couldn’t even read without a maester’s help. It hadn’t made it any easier that after six moons his main counsellor had been caught brewing a civil war in Stormlands to make the people rebel against the bastard lord and had been making decisions behind Gendry’s back – and the decision he counselled and made Gendry make, were working against Gendry’s own favour. It was Davos, who had stepped in then and eventually stopped Gendry from running to the docks and going on a mindless search to find Arya – he was no lord, never meant to be one ruling a cold, lifeless castle alone.

Gendry’s hand hit the bed beside him – empty. It made his heart ache; his dream had washed all the old regrets to the shore. He wondered, for a millionth time in the 4 years, why he hadn’t just boarded the ship with Arya when he had the chance. Like he had told Arya; there was no lordship for him without her at his side. He didn’t want to be a lord, carry Baratheon colours, but he knew it was the only way he could be with her. Even if the She-wolf of Winterfell did certainly not care of tradition, Gendry had always been taught all he could get with his upbringing was a common wench – the only men wedding ladies were lords, maybe highborn knights. So, when Daenerys Stormborn gave him his title and land and king Bran the Broken let him keep them, as Storm’s End was without a lord and the Baratheon line depended on bastards, was Gendry sent to repair what was left of the honour of the Baratheon castle.

Gendry sat up from his bed, grimacing to the pain in his lower back. Years had not been kind to him – though he still regularly worked in the forge, making trinkets and swords for the people in need, he wasn’t the man he was just four short years earlier, swinging his war hammer and working day and night, always alert and ready to flee ever since he first left Flea Bottom and the Street of Steel on the run from the goldcloaks. He hardly caught a break after that – and when the break came, he couldn’t even enjoy the luxury of free time, as every waking hour was filled with regret and memories as the strange castle surrounding him told him at each corner, each step of the high tower that he was a stranger, not the lord he was supposed to be to rule Storm’s End. It took him years to really settle, find a comfortable rhythm with himself, with the other lords and the smallfolk.

Gendry ran his hand through his hair, grown longer and thicker than years ago when he chopped it all off. His blue eyes searched for the looking glass, then finding the handheld mirror from the top of the drawer, moving towards the window to see better in the soft light of the morning sun.

If his body had changed, so had his face – the dark circles under his eyes sung their song of nights kept awake, and as Gendry was touching the side of his cheek, wondering if he should get a proper, clean shave done again, he spotted a grey hair amongst the thick black hairs. Gendry’s brows knitted closer together, annoyed as he decided to ask for a shave as soon as he had some time.

Gendry’s mind wandered as he exited his chambers, the dark hallway illuminated by the pale morning light as his feet led him towards the bedchamber down the hall, blue eyes searching and curious.

When Gendry turned the corner to face the small bedchamber, his heart leaped with warmth and joy; as he stood there, watching the figure sitting down on the padded chair, as Arya’s soft voice echoed through the bedchamber decorated with furs and soft wool to make it warmer.

_“…I’ll always keep you warm and safe,  
and guard you with my sword…”_

Gendry leaned against the doorframe soundlessly, listening to Arya sing the lullaby to their secondborn, who was nearing his first nameday. Arya was still in her nightshirt, cradling the babe wrapped in the warm cloth and as Arya sifted the babe a little bit, Gendry could see he was fast asleep.

The warmth in Gendry’s chest slowly spread to his eyes, as he watched Arya in the morning sun, hair braided and eyes soft. Gendry couldn’t understand, what had he done to deserve her; she was his anchor, his hope, his love. He knew he missed and needed her when she left, but he had only realized how much only he got her back.

It took longer for Gendry to understand it was mutual, though.

He still remembered the day Arya’s grey sails were spotted in the horizon. He had been in some useless meeting, when one of his guards came to the library – “M’lord, a ship flying the Stark colours has been spotted, it is asking for a permission to dock-“. The guard hadn’t been able to finish his sentence, when Gendry was already out, running down to the shipyard and the docks, adjusting his clothes. At that point, it had been 13 moons since Arya set sail – and when Gendry finally saw the love of his life returning, healthy and alive, there was a bundle in her arms, as she stopped in her tracks on the deck as soon as she spotted Gendry.

Arya had given birth at sea; their daughter was born 6 months after Arya had set sail, and as soon as Davos was told of this, he counted back and Gendry couldn’t hear the end of “the seed is strong” for at least a moonturn.

Even at seven months old, Crena was the most temperamental babe Gendry had ever met – not that he had met many babies. She was blessed with the Baratheon looks from his father, the child undeniably his, but as Crena neared her third nameday, it was clear she had the wits and temper of her she-wolf mother.

Soon after Crena’s first nameday and 7 moons after Arya got back, her belly started to swell again – only this time, Gendry was there with her. After a lot of late-night talks and ravens sent to King’s Landing, to the North, to Dorne, they were wed under the eyes of both the old Gods and the new. By then, Arya’s belly was noticeable, and as Sansa rode down to Stormlands, she had the most beautiful gown tailored for her little sister.

Gendry would never forget how beautiful Arya looked; of course, she was always beautiful, taking his breath away with her mere existence, but as said her vows, with gown of pale yellow and copper accents, the blood-red leaves of the weirdwood tree stuck to her hair and grey eyes locked to Gendry’s blues, Gendry knew it was the memory he would carry out to his deathbed, when his mind would be too weak to even remember his own name, it was the memory he’d take up to Gods.

_“… I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,_

_and bind my hair with grass,_

_and you shall stop staring me,_

_or_ I will beat your ass _”_

The sudden change in the lullaby’s lyrics made Gendry snap out of his thoughts, as he looked back at Arya, who was now staring at him, with a smirk on her lips and one eyebrow higher than the other cockily.

“Don’t swear around the babe.” Gendry whispered, amused as he walked towards Arya with silent steps, looking as she stood up and gently placed baby Micah to his crib. Gendry watched as Arya covered him with a warm, dark grey cover, smiling down at the baby as Gendry wrapped his arms around her hips, smiling.

“He should know as soon as possible who calls the shots here.”

“Uh huh.” Gendry smiled against Arya’s skin, pressing soft, sleepy kisses against the back of her neck; he knew it was where she was the most ticklish. For a moment, Arya squirmed, until she laughed quietly, her hands coming to rest on top of his. 

“If you keep staring at me like that and keep doing… _That_ … We’ll have another baby to take care of in no time. Are you going to be ready to sacrifice your sleep for another two years?” Gendry smiled smugly as Arya’s voice faltered as he pressed a kiss under her ear, hand traveling to hold onto her hips.

“Anything for you, m’lady.” He murmured, earning a sharp jab to his ribs for teasing her for the title once again.

“Have you checked up on Crena yet?” Arya breathed, closing her eyes for a moment in she tender moment.

“Mmh, no. But her room door was closed, so she is probably fast asleep.” Gendry mumbled, then just resting his head against her shoulder, pulling Arya into a tighter hug against himself, marvelling in the warmth of her body, in the warmth that reminded him of family, of home. “Have I told you already today how much I love you?”


End file.
